Love In A Hopeless Place
by OrangeShipper
Summary: In the hardest of circumstances, a friendship unexpectedly but perhaps inevitably blossoms. Hints of Mary/Matthew, Matthew/Lavinia, Mary/Lavinia if you squint.


A/N: _In reponse to request from Ladyannacrawley to ponder Lavinia/Mary. I'm not going to say whether or not this is directly shippy, because I don't really know myself. Suffice to say it's as shippy as I will ever write them, and I'm happy to leave it entirely to your own interpretation just how deep this goes. _

_Set immediately after Mary's train station parting from Matthew in 2x01._

_That said, I very much hope you enjoy it :)  
_

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**Love in a Hopeless Place**

Lavinia wandered restlessly along the unfamiliar path, feeling the chill air cling to her skin. She shivered and hugged her arms tighter around her. She was sure this was the path Matthew had shown her yesterday... but it seemed so different now, when she was alone.

Alone. The feeling speared sharply through her, almost overwhelming in its ferocity. Matthew was gone back to France, and she was in this still unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people who she supposed would be her family one day if only Matthew came back alright... She clung pathetically to the hope.

Just ahead of her a twig cracked sharply under a foot, and Lavinia glanced up, startled, with a little intake of breath.

"Oh - hello!"

"Lavinia!" Mary looked equally as startled as the younger woman, and quickly swiped at her eyes. The air was very cold, and Lavinia thought the wind must be biting at her. Suddenly she felt very out of place, and intrusive.

"I'm sorry to be wandering," she apologised quickly. "Only I couldn't sleep at all, and Matthew left so early this morning -"

"Please, don't apologise," Mary shook her head and approached her, smiling brightly (almost overly so). "I felt like a walk myself, early as it is."

Lavinia smiled tentatively. "Yes. You might almost have bumped into Matthew! He took the six o'clock train, but wouldn't let anybody go with him. I wish he would have." She let out a huge, shuddering breath and felt Mary's hand on her arm, warm and reassuring. A delicate, grateful smile left her lips. "You must think I'm being terribly silly but -"

"Not in the slightest!" Mary assured her sincerely, giving Lavinia's arm another rub. Her heart ached, as she felt Lavinia's acute pain of loss (for she felt it too) and remembered her promise to Matthew (not daring to admit that she _had_ seen him, only minutes earlier). To look after her, this woman he had chosen over her... and as Mary looked at her now, she blinked and saw everything in her that Matthew must see. A tender delicacy of nature, sweetness, gentleness, prettiness; everything that was good and true and kind radiating from the poor, shivering creature who looked as if she might wilt if left alone for a moment.

A strange protectiveness surged in Mary's breast, and she tucked her arm through Lavinia's, turning her to walk towards the abbey. For Matthew's sake. "You miss him," she soothed; it was quite natural, quite alright. "We all do. Come, the servants will be up and we can have some tea."

"Thank you so much," Lavinia smiled. Mary's arm was comforting and she warmed right through at her kindness, for her, this intruder upon their family who they'd only known a day or two.

For a while they walked in companiable silence, each allowing themselves to be distracted by the quiet signs of the early hour. Rising mists from the damp grass, twittering birds, frost glittering on the stems of tiny flowers...

"How are you finding the country, after London?" Mary asked eventually, more for the sake of polite conversation than anything else. "I can never decide which I prefer, myself."

"Oh, I like it very much! Matthew thought I would, once I was used to it, but I find that I'm very keen already."

"I'm glad," Mary replied naturally. Oh, they were back to Matthew... Her heart ached but she braved a smile. She was his cousin, wasn't she allowed a little care for him?

"I know he was very happy to be back here, too," Lavinia carried obliviously on, "after having been away for so long."

"And we were very happy to see him back here, and well, and happy. And I think we must thank you for that! You must be such a comfort to him."

Her own words tortured her but what made all of it worse was the truth of it. Lavinia _was_ a comfort to him, she must be, to give him someone dear to think of out there... and Mary's heart stabbed to realise that she was grateful to Lavinia for it, for giving him that comfort. Desperately she tried to stamp down the little spring of affection that stirred in her heart, for this woman who could be everything to Matthew. And hated herself for not even being able to resent the woman who had stolen her love; for he had not been hers to steal, and if he was happy then... that was all she wanted anyway.

Lavinia smiled faintly. "I do hope that I am."

The abbey, when they reached it only minutes later, was warm and welcoming; even the very stones, it seemed - though still too grand to Lavinia to seem much like a _home_, whatever Matthew said. However, once she was settled in the drawing room with her coat, hat and gloves off and a pot of steaming tea before her and Mary beside her, it did begin to seem a _little_ more homely.

Now that they were out of the cold, Lavinia found herself immeasurably grateful for Mary's kindness and friendship, when she felt otherwise so lonely. Matthew had been right about her; about her qualities and her grace. She warmed a little more, and blushed at how out of place she felt beside her.

"I know it's very silly of me," she laughed quietly when no conversation seemed immediately forthcoming, "but I worry sometimes that I'll forget what he looks like! Especially now. I mean, I'm sure I never could, but - I worry that when I dream I'll forget his face, and -"

"Oh my dear, hush!" Mary frowned and clasped Lavinia's hand gently between her own to calm the girl's rising distress before it even began. It worked, as Lavinia's quickening breaths slowed and deepened. "You won't. Of course you won't."

She knew she wouldn't (couldn't) because she knew herself. It was impossible to forget his face. His handsome, gentle, kind face... Shaking those thoughts from her mind, unconsciously gripping Lavinia's hand a little tighter in her agitation (the engagement ring pressed into her palm and she shivered), she picked up on something else Lavinia had said. "What do you mean, especially now? Now that you're engaged?"

Her hands shifted and her thumb rubbed over the small diamonds adorning Lavinia's finger. They both looked down at the ring. It was very simple, and very pretty. Just like Lavinia seemed to be, Mary thought. Just what Matthew would like.

"Oh! No, no," Lavinia gazed at the sign of Matthew's bond to her with fluttery affection. "I mean that - you see - he looks different! This time."

"Different?" Mary frowned.

"He - well - oh dear, you'll laugh..."

"I promise you I won't!" she smiled and moved a little closer, in a show of friendship or solidarity or conspiration. "Well, unless what you say is terribly funny. Then I suppose I might!"

Lavinia closed her eyes. "The thing is he had a - mustache, when we met and - I'm not quite used to it being gone yet!"

Her eyes opened again, slowly, to the sound of Mary's sparkling laughter. She blushed gently, but soon found herself laughing as well.

"I - can't imagine it!" Mary exclaimed.

"I suppose you wouldn't have ever seen it," Lavinia smiled once their laugter had calmed. "He often complained about it in fact. It was army regulation that he had to wear one until earlier this year, and he wrote to me sounding terribly excited when the rules changed and he could shave it off! But I - I rather liked it, actually. And - well, that's how I'm afraid I'll remember him! You see..."

She pressed open the clasp on her bag and pulled out a small photograph, passing it silently to Mary who stared at it in wonder. She'd not seen a photograph of Matthew since the war (her own had been taken shortly before, when they were in London...) and now her eyes roved curiously and indulgently over it. His uniform, the proud, brave set of his jaw, his glittering eyes, his fair hair swept under his cap and... there, on his upper lip, the faint line of a mustache. It suited him; he was undeniably handsome with it; though she preferred the softness of his features without. It made him seem older, somehow. She smiled, feeling overwhelmed by a fierce affection for him and fondness as she thought of him so delightedly shaving it off and... his pale, delicate skin...

Thankfully Lavinia continued, quietly as if talking more to herself than Mary, before her thoughts could stray any more dangerously down that route.

"At least I have his photograph, I suppose."

Yes, Mary knew what a comfort that was. She nodded, and as a quite little sob broke from Lavinia she put her arm around her shoulders, passing over a handkerchief without a word. Lavinia dabbed at her eyes and sniffed quietly, and Mary could not bring herself to remove her arm.

"I'm sorry. Thank you." She realised that Mary's other hand was once more curled around hers in comfort, and she was grateful for those cool, slender fingers that soothed her so immediately. She smiled. "I shall have to ask him for a new one! I had one taken just a few days ago, while Matthew was here still. He's taken it back with him, he said he wanted to, so at least I needn't worry that he'll forget what _I_ look like!"

"Of course he won't," Mary said quietly.

Her heart twisted and her fingers tightened around Lavinia's hand. How stupid she was! What had she been thinking, giving him a token - a toy! It meant the world to her, but why should it to him? How could it mean anything when he had a photo of his darling fiancée to cherish and look at and be comforted by? She bit the inside of her lip and mindlessly rubbed Lavinia's back, wishing she hadn't been such a fool. At least she herself would have some comfort from him having it, even if it meant little to him.

The tea was ready; a dearly welcomed distraction, and Mary quickly busied herself with pouring it out. Carefully she handed a cup to Lavinia, who took it appreciatively and lifted the steaming china delicately to her lips.

"Thank you," she murmured, her pale and sparkling green eyes gazing sincerely into Mary's dark ones. "For - not just the tea, but - for being so lovely to me when you've no need to be at all."

"Oh don't thank me," Mary smiled faintly and took a sip of her own tea, gulping it down too quickly. Matthew loved her... and so must she. Because he'd asked her to. Because he'd want her to.

There was every need... and even if there wasn't, Mary wasn't sure she could help do anything but.

**Fin**

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A/N: _There we are, and thank you ever so much for reading! Of course I'd love to know what you thought - and I do hope you enjoyed it!_


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